Roads Untraveled
by TrappedintheTimeVortex
Summary: Above, thunder wreaks its havoc upon the heavens. Below, a torrent has made a young female, clutching to the remnants of a shattered love, sodden. Her onslaught of grief can only be ceased via the words of a stranger with a compassion for humanity.


**Warning:** this story has mentions of rape and violence. If you are uncomfortable with such matters, then please do not read.

TrappedintheTimeVortex

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><p>Engrossed in a fit of despondency, the female perched atop a concrete curb teeming with rivulets of brackish water, peering past calves clad in stonewash denim. Tributaries of briny liquid emanating from her eyes were, to a degree, masked by droplets flogging an urban hub swathed with the obscurities of night. Abashed for the mere notion that her display of emotion might be witnessed, the female pressed her face between her knees, albeit the action provided a scant refuge from the torrent which had already made her sodden.<p>

Another succession of convulsions proceeded by a succession of guttural coughs wracked her form. _Perhaps it's good for me to remain out here and catch my death of pneumonia. Then I would never have to wonder why this happened to me. Why did it happen to me? How did I allow myself to be deceived in such a manner?_

Thunder tolled its brutish tintinnabulation; the abruptness of the noise was enough to rouse her from the stupor in which she had been immersed. With partial consciousness, she surveyed the vacant, dank, and mouldy street. However, anything beyond a metre or so of her location was inaccessible subsequent of the dark.

Then, a tongue of forked white radiance illuminated the murk. It silhouetted the approaching figure of a man clutching an umbrella in his right hand. She was uncertain whether to be apprehensive or celebratory and in her indecision, he stooped adjacent to her, extending the umbrella so as to shelter her from the ferocity of the storm. "Do you need a lift?" He inquired, concern evident in his features.

Suppressing her prior agony, she stared at him. Subsequent of the torrent and dark combined, his hair was flattened and of an indiscernible shade. His attire was marked with darker flecks at present. Probably because he extended the umbrella to her, she supposed. But the true question was: could she trust him? Yet his countenance was amiable and no malice could she discern lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. Thus, she consented, inclining her head slightly in response to the query.

He noted this and clambered to his feet before proffering his hand to her. Warily, she grasped it and he hauled her upward. Albeit her legs dared to yield, the female maintained her footing. Perhaps the paraesthesia and lack of circulation was subsequent of her huddling upon the curb. Grimacing, she awaited the evanescent sensation to ebb and as she awaited its passing, the man uttered, "I can't help but notice… you've lost someone, haven't you?"

There was a moment in which she was taken aback. _Who is this man with such ability?_ Then ire arose within her chest, expelling the frigidity which seized her extremities. "What does it matter if I have or have not?" Her inquiry was terse and her eyes assumed a certain coldness. "That is none of your business, is it?"

And she anticipated him to become fazed by her display. Yet all that existed was some bizarre empathy aglow in his eyes. "My name is the Doctor, and I help people. I know how it feels to lose a person you love…" A lapse in speech and then: "It's the worst feeling of all. No person should ever have that happened to them."

"That may be so, Doctor," she countered, "but losing people is a fact of life. I loved him so much, but that never prevented everything from falling to pieces!" Now that the initial confession was professed, the remainder of the story rapidly succeeded. "He was fine, fine for the longest time and then he just… snapped. Started drinking at the pub with his friends and became a drunkard from there. He would beat me, wound me, and rape me. Well, I just couldn't deal with that anymore! I told him to stop and I – I took away his bottles. And then, he tried to kill me!" How tremulous and shrill was her voice as she reached the climax of the tale. "I managed to escape and I told him down again! He told me that our wedding was off." She whispered, "But I still love him, and I hate that I still dream about what could have been."

The Doctor blinked twice and in his morose eyes, she could see something ancient. Yet even this epiphany was not enough to hinder her abashed nature of uttering the most personal of tales to a stranger. As the rage kindled within once more, she pivoted and strode into the headlong gale. "Don't cry for something not meant to be." His voice caused her to cease. "There comes a time when we find a road we wish very much to travel but we have to leave it untraveled. But one day, there comes another opportunity. One day, you will heal, I promise."

_This situation is temporary. I still have a life ahead of me. _"I think I understand," she murmured, strands of honey-coloured hair eddying across her sight.

Behind her, the Doctor beamed. "Good. Now…"

"Emma," she answered.

"Good. Now, Emma, go and be brilliant. Live a splendid live. Perhaps you don't need a bloke after all." His final words were muttered and Emma sensed a receding resonance through the soles of her trainers. One pace, two paces, three paces… _Should I let him leave?_ Not without uttering a proper farewell. How impudent not doing so would be. "Doctor!" It was now that she turned.

"Yes?" He prompted.

"How can I thank you?" Above the uncanny lamentation of the gale, she cried out to him.

"No need to thank me." What a modest response. "I told you, it's what I do. If you ever need me again, I'll be there."

As his form retreated, tears brimmed in her dark eyes.


End file.
